Flame and Spade (A DreamNotFound Story)

Chapter 12 *

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The dark spruce door slammed behind them, its metal studs sealing George and Dream into darkness.

Shhk!

The grating sound of lighting a match echoed through the empty hallways, a watery light splashing over the edges of Wilbur's lantern and onto the cobblestone floors. "Come on then," He whispered, seemingly afraid of the way his voice bounced off the walls and cocooned around them, "And be quiet!"

George marvelled at how quickly his life seemed to have turned around. There he was, lost in the Overworld; but he had never felt more found. It was bound to be so, he presumed, that of course the first taste of freedom he would be attached to.

A shiver from the man next to his drew his thoughts back to the present. They had entered the brooding castle from a dusty side door, and now crept down a dank hallway, gusts of frigid wind billowing down shadowed corridors and whipping the back of George's knees. Noticing how dim the lamplight was getting ahead, George shuddered and hurried back to the group.

Wilbur led them down a seemingly endless maze of twisting corridors and winding hallways, batting away trailing cobwebs reaching their ghostly fingers down for the boys. The castle was not open, or grand; it was dense, for the windows studded into the walls simply opened on to other corridors letting no light in at all, and dark moss and vines threatened to choke the castle from inside out. More often than not, Wilbur spun on his heel and made off down another corridor, for the one they were traveling down was smothered in dark vines, their brambles sharp and held at the ready.

After what seemed like hours stumbling along in the rough light, Wilbur set the lamp on the ground and leaned into the darkness. Though George and Clay stayed within the light's safety, they strained to make out anything, but they were surely lost in the bowels of the castle.

A dull thud and a scraping noise wrapped around George and Dream, almost dizzying in the way that it slammed up against the barriers of light, circling them like a predator circling its prey.

"Got it!"

At Wilbur's voice, Clay started, pressing against George's side.

"Alright boys, stay close. It's pretty precarious..." Wilbur intoned, suddenly appearing behind George.

"Come on then, we haven't got all day. I've found the door."

With that, Wilbur ventured beyond the light and beckoned for them to follow. The two shuffled towards the louder grunting and scarping coming from the dark. With his foot, Dream edged along the heavy iron lantern to cast more light on Wilbur and the mystery of what he was doing.

He was shoving large boxes towards the edges of the corridor, unveiling a solid door that seemed to be carved out of the wall itself. It was a sheet of slate, seeming thick as a log and studded with metal bands. Strange runes George had only seen in enchanting books were littered around the helm, seemingly wild and ancient and carved into the stone. 

Hauling open the door with a pained grunt, Wilbur snatched the lantern off the ground and ushered the boys onto the top step of a dizzying stairwell that seemed to descend into the dark depths of the Earth. The door slammed shut behind them, sealing them into the stairwell like skeletons in a tomb. All George had for solace was the lamplight sticking to their feet and Clay's hand, which he hung onto like he was drowning.

"I know you are not talkative, which is good. But you need to listen carefully. Do not make a sound. Do not stumble. Above all else, stay close. Do not stop going down these stairs, no matter what you hear. Do not stop going down these stairs, no matter who you hear. Do not hold on to each other. It will use that against you. I cannot tell you what other horrors sleep in the bowels of these stairs, for I do not know. What I do know is that the Warden is listening for you. I cannot help you anymore. I will see you at the bottom, if the steps deem you worthy."